


With Me

by TheonSugden



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Death, Post-Series, ghost Keller, hallucination Keller, or maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 10:23:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6654226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheonSugden/pseuds/TheonSugden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after being freed from Oz and starting a content new life, Beecher still can't shake Keller. The question is - does he want to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written any Oz in over a decade so please forgive me.

“You’re such a smug prick. You know that, right?”

Beecher had every reason to be smug. He’d gotten out - finally - even after Chris…after _Keller_ had killed himself to keep him locked up for life. He had a smart, caring, funny, beautiful new wife, with a baby on the way. He was doing good deeds and pro bono and “giving back” and showing the world he was reformed. His little girl - well, she was a teenager now - had even started talking to him, started to realize he was grieving his son as much as she was grieving her brother. 

“Just shut up.” 

He got the usual smirk in return.

“Ya don’t mean that.”

No, he didn’t. Not really. It was why, even after two years of seeing Chris ( _Keller, Keller_ ), since that first day he left the courthouse a free man and saw that smug smile and faded wifebeater and painted-on jeans draped against the railing, he’d never told anyone. He’d never seen a shrink. He’d never gone on pills.

“Without me, you’re nothing, pal.”

That was a crock of shit, of course. He’d always been something, someone. He’d always tried not to be, tried to fade into the perfect family or the dullest pair of glasses or the dullest prison greys, but something in him had always screamed out, lashed out, got attention. 

This was the first time in his very hellish life that he’d actually been calm, been - well, yeah, boring. And Chris ( _fuck it_ ) wanted to take it away. 

“Is this what you want?”

Yes, it was what he wanted. 

“Fine. I forgot you’re a lawyer - a shitty lawyer…”

“Fuck you.”

“Only if you don’t ask nice. Is that _all_ you want?”

He should say yes. It was everything he wanted, nothing he deserved, but had still somehow stumbled upon. And it still - it still wasn’t -

“No, dammit.”

Chris grinned that happy grin Beecher had only seen a few times, but had filed away deep in his heart, deeper than anything beyond the memories of his children.

“You know I’m gonna be here, be there, be everywhere. I’ll be in the delivery room, in your bed, in your head - I’ll be there when ya fuck it all up the way I know you will.”

Beecher took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes, hoping - fearing - he wouldn’t see Chris anymore if he rubbed them hard enough.

“I know, Chris.”

“Always knew what you wanted, before you ever did. Still do. ‘Cos that’s how it works.”

Beecher laughed, bitterly. 

Of course it was. 

“Toby -”

He looked up, seeing Chris hunched in the windowsill, his grandmother’s windowsill, looking out on the old oak tree. The same windowsill he’d sat in every summer, visiting his grandparents, wondering what was wrong with him. 

He still wondered.

“Don’t make me go back there, Toby. I hate it.”

Beecher couldn’t begin to speculate on what “there” was, but in the fleeting moments he believed in anything beyond the constant ball-kicking fuckery of life, he knew he’d be “there” soon enough himself.

“Since when could I ever ‘make’ you do anything?”

Chris looked at him like he’d crushed his heart into a million pieces. So manipulative. And somehow, still so effective.

“Just say it. I’ll go. I’m gone. I swear on the ex-wife I didn’t wanna drown in cat crap.”

Beecher knew that was a lie. He knew Chris would always stay around, probably haunting him far past his final breath. So he knew he could convince himself he was saying this because he had no choice. He never had a choice. 

No - that was bullshit. This was his choice. And he was going to make it.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing the glasses so hard in his hand he could almost hear a crunch.

“Fuck you, you fucking manipulative shitbag asshole…”

Chris beamed again.

“So it’s a yeah then?”

Beecher nodded.

“Yes. I want you here for…for when I fuck it up. And when I don’t. I just - I want you. I - I -”

Big burly arms - or some hallucination of them - wrapped him tight.

“Don’t say anymore or I’m gonna kill you in your sleep so I’ll have ya to myself all the time.”

Beecher laughed, because he knew Chris really, really wasn’t kidding.

The paws-of-hands moved down his body, cupping his firm backside. 

“Still got such a nice ass, Toby. You’re still doin’ those exercises I taught ya, aren’t ya?”

To the world, Chris Keller was long dead, and in Beecher’s saner moments, with his new wife and new and old family, maybe Chris was. 

But the rest of the time, Chris was there with him. More than ever. 

And if anybody had a problem with that, then, for the first time in his life - he simply did not give a fuck. 


End file.
